The Joys of Gluttony
by ProcrastinatingPalindrome
Summary: America goes overboard on Easter candy and earns a little TLC from Russia.


America let his head flop back down into the couch cushions with a moan. "I want to die," he whined.

Russia hummed sympathetically and gave America's stomach a gentle rub. "This is generally what happens when a person eats their weight in egg-shaped pieces of chocolate."

"I totally didn't eat my full weight in chocolate," America grumbled. "It was maybe half. _Maybe_. Do we have any more ginger ale? I feel less god-awful when I'm drinking that stuff."

Russia passed him another can from the cooler he had dragged out for the occasion and was about to comment when a chime interrupted him. "Was that your phone?"

America glanced over at the coffee table, where his phone lay and now glowed with a new text message. "I guess. Just leave it, I don't care what it says."

The words had barely left his mouth before the phone bleeped again. And again. And again.

After six more _bling-blong_s Russia finally snatched the phone off the table and glanced at the screen.

"They are from England," he said lightly. "It appears Sealand vomited in his car on the way home. He is quite annoyed with you. To put it mildly."

America huffed and took another sip of ginger ale. "What-fucking-ever. He's just extra grumpy 'cause he's stressed about the Olympics. Not my fault his car got puked in."

"You challenged Sealand to an Easter candy eating contest."

"So? He didn't have to do it! I didn't force him!"

"You promised to recognize him as a nation if he won."

"Hey, I'm just trying to keep the little booger's dreams alive. Give him something to shoot for!"

Russia only rolled his eyes and went back to diligently rubbing America's distended belly. "I suppose you are very proud of your victory today."

"Hell yes," America said with a weak grin. "Gotta defend my title."

Russia raised an eyebrow. "You have a title? For eating excessive amounts of Easter candy?"

"I do now!"

"And you won a tummy ache for your troubles."

"I regret nothing. Easter candy is fucking delicious. Cadbury eggs and chocolate bunnies and Reese's eggs and Peeps and those…those little chocolate eggs with the candy coating, whatever those are called…"

"But not Kinder eggs, da?" Russia couldn't help but add.

"Hey!" America snapped, raising his head off the couch to frown at Russia. "Those things are fuckin' dangerous."

"Number one threat to America after bears?"

"You got it," America said, sticking his tongue out at Russia for good measure. "That's basically the only chocolate thing I ain't into. Chocolate is like…heaven in your mouth. I remember the first time I ever had some…" He sighed happily, retreating into memory lane. "I was pretty little back then, and England came to visit, which was a HUGE deal to little me 'cause he'd leave for years at a time and y'know, it was kinda lonely being all on my own …"

Russia's hand slowed and stopped in the process of rubbing America's stomach, and quietly moved over to give America's knee a comforting pat. America gave him a look, coughed awkwardly and continued.

"A-anyway, he took me into town and got me a mug of chocolate to celebrate, 'cause it wasn't like you could just go to Walmart and buy a candy bar in those days; chocolate was a pretty big luxury for me. And so I took a sip…and it was like, whoa, holy shit, where the fuck has this stuff been all my life? And I was a chocoholic ever since. Of course I didn't say fuck or shit back then because I was goddamn _angelic_ as a kid."

"Oh were you?" Russia grinned teasingly.

"Hell yeah. Haven't you heard England carrying on about how cute I was back then?"

"England also says that you frequently wet your bed and went through a phase when you ran around naked."

"…Like I've always said, England's an unreliable bastard and you can't trust a word he says."

"Ah yes. Of course."

America shoved a foot into Russia's face. "Quit that smirking, assface. C'mon, you gotta tell me about when you were a kid now. It's only fair."

Russia tapped a finger against his chin, thinking. "Ah, well, I of course never tasted chocolate in my childhood. We had no access to such a thing back then. But I was very fond of honey."

"Heh, like Winnie the Pooh," America chuckled, settling back down and grabbing his ginger ale again.

"Vinni Pukh," Russia corrected automatically. If there was one thing he and America could never settle, it was who's adaptation of the pudgy bear was better. "But yes, I did have a sweet tooth was I was small. Berries and fruit, that sort of thing. Ah, I remember Ukraine used to make me candy by boiling berries with honey until it was thick and sticky, and then rolling the mixture around a stick…it was my favorite treat."

"So you didn't just stick your whole fist in a honey pot or anything?"

"I would have gotten a spanking for that," Russia said, wincing at the thought. "I did love honey, but I was unfortunately unpopular with bees."

America nearly choked on his drink as he burst into laughter. "Oh jeez, you really are Winnie the Pooh."

"Vinni Pukh."

"Whatever. So did they sting you all the time or what?"

"Da. It was very unfair. There could be a hundred people around and they would always fly straight to me! I must have been stung thousands of times…"

"Aw, poor baby," America cooed in teasing sympathy. "Did it make you cry?"

"Only if I was stung many times in a row," Russia grumped defensively, failing to mention that 'many times' meant only more than once.

"Well don't you worry, big guy," America winked. "I'll keep all the mean bees away from you from now on."

"A truly heroic gesture. How brave you are."

"You know it, babe," America laughed.

Russia nodded and stretched his arms forward, feeling a bit stiff after sitting on the floor beside the couch for so long. "Is your tummy feeling better now?"

America glanced down at his stomach thoughtfully. "Yeah, it's getting there. I guess we can call this another successful Easter!"

"Why? Because your stomach did not end up rupturing?"

"Sure, let's go with that. Well, that's my Easter down, yours to go!"

Russia paused, surprised in spite of himself. "You want to celebrate my Easter with me?"

"Well sure!" America answered, tilting his head curiously. "I mean, we do my Christmas and your Christmas together, so why not do both Easters together too! Plus you always do cool stuff at your house for holidays. I want in on that action. Hey, what about those fancy jewelry eggs? You still do that stuff?"

Russia felt his cheeks starting to warm under the praise. "We stopped making Faberge eggs almost a hundred years ago, if that is what you meant."

"Yeah? Oh well, the ones you got are pretty enough."

"…I can show you the ones we have when you visit. If you like. Some went missing after the revolution, but we still have quite a few."

America beamed. "Sure thing! It's a date!"

A date. Russia had gone on so many with America since their relations had finally begun to sincerely mend, but the word still brought color and a smile to his face.

"Da, a date. And there is no need to be overly careful about what you eat when you come to visit. I will be happy to rub your tummy if you eat too much again."

Author's Notes:

In Russia Easter is often celebrated on a different day than in the west because the Eastern Orthodox Church runs on a different calendar from the Catholic one. Kinder eggs are banned in the US for being a choking hazard, which most people agree is pretty stupid. Faberge eggs were made from 1885 to 1917. Alexander III and Nicholas II both commissioned special eggs to be made for every Easter, but for obvious reasons all that came to a screeching halt once the revolution began and shit really started to hit the fan. The candy Russia describes is based on a recipe I found in a book that contained descriptions of medieval Russian food. And I think that's all the references I included this time around.


End file.
